For they are just the failings of mankind to which we

  also belong and accordingly we have all the same

  failings buried within ourselves. We should not be

  indignant with others for these vices simply because

  they do not appear in us at the moment.

  Parerga and Paralipomena was a great success,

  generating several compilations of selections published

  separately under more popular titles (Aphorisms on

  Practical Wisdom, Counsels and Maxims, The Wisdom of

  Life, Living Thoughts of Schopenhauer, The Art of

  Literature, Religion: A Dialogue). Soon Schopenhauer's words were on the tongue of the entire educated German

  public. Even in neighboring Denmark, Kierkegaard wrote

  in his 1854 journal that "all the literary gossips, journalists, and authorlings have begun to busy themselves with S."

  Praise ultimately appeared in the press. Great Britain,

  Arthur's almost-birthplace, was the first to honor him with

  a stunning review of all of his work (titled "Iconoclasm in

  German Philosophy") in the prestigious Westminister

  Review. Shortly afterward this review was translated and widely read in Germany. Similar articles quickly appeared

  in France and Italy, and Schopenhauer's life changed

  dramatically.

  Curious visitors flocked to the Englisher Hof to eye

  the philosopher at lunch. Richard Wagner sent him the

  original libretto of the Ring of the Nibelungs with a

  dedication. Universities began to teach his work, learned

  societies issued invitations for membership, eulogistic

  letters arrived in the post, his previous books reappeared in

  bookstores, townspeople greeted him on his walks, and pet

  stores had a run on poodles similar to Schopenhauer's.

  Schopenhauer's rapture and delight were very

  evident. He wrote, "If a cat is stroked it purrs; and just as

  inevitably if a man is praised, sweet rapture and delight are

  reflected in his face, and expressed the hope" that "the

  morning sun of my fame will gild with its first rays the

  evening of my life and dispel its gloom." When the eminent

  sculptress Elisabeth Ney visited Frankfurt for four weeks to

  do a bust of him, Arthur purred, "She works all day at my

  place. When I get home we have coffee together, we sit

  together on the sofa, and I feel as if I were married."

  Not since the best years of his life--the two years

  spent as a child in Le Havre with the de Blesimaire

  family--had Arthur spoken so tenderly and contentedly of

  domestic life.

  40

  _________________________

  Atthe end

  of

  his

  life,

  no

  man, if he

  be sincere

  and

  in

  possession

  of

  his

  faculties,

  would ever

  wish to go

  though it

  again.

  Rather

  than this,

  he

  will

  much

  prefer to

  choose

  complete

  nonexisten

  ce.

  _________________________

  Members filed in for the penultimate meeting with

  contrasting feelings: some felt sorrow about the looming

  end of the group, some thought about personal work they

  had left undone, some scanned Julius's face as though to

  imprint it in their minds, and all were enormously curious

  about Pam's response to Philip's revelations of the previous

  meeting.

  But Pam did not offer satisfaction; instead she

  extracted a sheet of paper from her purse, slowly unfolded

  it, and read aloud:

  A carpenter does not come up to me and say, "listen to

  me discourse about the art of carpentry." Instead he

  makes a contract for a house and builds it.... Do the

  same thing yourself: eat like a man; drink like a man....

  get married, have children, take part in civic life, learn

  how to put up with insults, and tolerate other people.

  Then, turning to Philip, she said, "Written by...guess

  who?"

  Philip shrugged.

  "Your man, Epictetus. That's why I bring it here. I

  know you revere him--you brought Julius one of his

  fables. Why am I quoting him? I'm merely speaking to the

  point raised by Tony and Stuart and others last week that

  you've never been 'in life.' I believe that you selectively

  pick and choose various passages from philosophers to

  support your position and--"

  Gill interrupted, "Pam, this is our next-to-last

  meeting. If this is another one of your get-Philip tirades, I

  don't personally feel I've got time for it. Do what you tell

  me to do. Get real and talk about your feelings. You must

  have had strong reactions to what Philip said about you last

  meeting."

  "No, no, hear me out," Pam said quickly. "This is not

  'get-Philip' stuff. My motivations are different. The iron is

  cooling. I'm trying to say something helpful to Philip. I

  think he's compounded his life avoidance by selectively

  gathering support from philosophy. He draws from

  Epictetus when he needs him and overlooks the same

  Epictetus when he doesn't."

  "That's a great point, Pam," said Rebecca. "You're

  putting your finger on something important. You know, I

  bought a copy of a little paperback called the Wisdom of

  Schopenhauer at a used-book store and have been

  skimming it the last couple of nights. It's all over the place: some of it's fabulous and some outrageous. There's a

  passage I read yesterday that floored me. He says that if we

  go into any cemetery, knock on the tombstones, and ask the

  spirits dwelling there if they'd like to live again, every one of them would emphatically refuse." She turned to Philip.

  "You believe this?" Without waiting for him to respond,

  Rebecca continued, "Well, I don't. He's not speaking for

  me. I'd like to check it out. Could we get a vote here?"

  "I'd choose to live again. Life's a bitch, but it's a

  kick too," said Tony. A chorus of "me too" spread around

  the group. "I hesitate for one reason," explained Julius.

  "The idea of once again bearing the pain of my wife's

  death; but, even so, I'd say yes. I love being alive." Only

  Philip held silent.

  "Sorry," he said, "but I agree with Schopenhauer.

  Life is suffering from start to finish. It would have been

  better if life, all life, had never been."

  "Better not have been for whom ?" asked Pam. "For

  Schopenhauer, you mean? Apparently not for the folks in

  this room."

  "Schopenhauer is hardly alone in his position.

  Consider the millions of Buddhists. Remember that the first

  of the Buddha's four noble truths is that life is suffering."

  "Is that a serious answer, Philip? What's happened to

  you? When I was a student you lectured brilliantly on

  modes of philosophical argument. What kind of argument

  is this? Truth by proclamation? Truth by appeal to

  authority? That's the way of religion, and yet sure
ly you

  follow Schopenhauer in his atheism. And has it occurred to

  you that Schopenhauer was chronically depressed and that

  the Buddha lived in a place and at a time when human

  suffering--pestilence, starvation--was rampant and that,

  indeed, life then was unmitigated suffering for most? Has it

  occurred--"

  "What kind of philosophic argument is that ?"

  retorted Philip. "Every halfway literate sophomore student

  knows the difference between genesis and validity."

  "Wait, wait," interjected Julius. "Let's pause for a

  minute and check in." He scanned the group. "How are the

  rest of you guys feeling about the last few minutes?"

  "Good stuff," said Tony. "They were really duking it

  out. But with padded gloves."

  "Right, better than silent glares and hidden daggers,"

  said Gill.

  "Yeah, I liked it a lot better," agreed Bonnie. "Sparks

  were flying between Pam and Philip but cooler sparks."

  "Me, too," said Stuart, "until the last couple of

  minutes."

  "Stuart," said Julius, "in your first meeting here you

  said your wife accused you of talking in telegrams."

  "Yep, you're stingy today. A few more words won't

  cost you any more," said Bonnie.

  "Right. Maybe I'm regressing because...you know,

  this being the next-to-last meeting. Can't be sure--I don't

  feel sad; as usual I have to infer my feelings. Here's

  something I do know, Julius. I love your taking care of me,

  calling on me, staying on my case. How's that?"

  "That's great, and I'll keep doing it. You said you

  liked Pam and Philip talking 'until the last couple of

  minutes.' So, what about those last minutes?"

  "At first it felt good-natured--more like a family

  squabble. But that last comment by Philip--that had a nasty

  edge to it. I mean the comment starting with" Every

  halfway literate sophomore student. "I didn't like that,

  Philip. It was a put-down. If you said that to me, I'd have

  felt insulted. And threatened--I'm not even sure what

  philosophical arguement means."

  "I agree with Stuart, "said Rebecca. "Tell me, Philip,

  what were you feeling? Did you want to insult Pam?"

  "Insult her? No, not at all. That was the last thing I

  wanted to do," responded Philip. "I

  felt...uh... uplifted or released --not sure of the right word--by her saying the iron was no longer red-hot. Let's

  see, what else? I knew that one of her motives in bringing

  in the quote by Epictetus was to trap and confound me.

  That was obvious. But I kept in mind what Julius said to

  me when I brought in that fable for him--that he was

  pleased by the effort and the caring behind the act."

  "So," said Tony, "let me pull a Julius. Here's what I

  hear: you intended one thing but your words resulted in

  another thing entirely."

  Philip looked quizzical.

  "I mean," said Tony, "you said that insulting Pam

  was the last thing in the world you wanted to do. Yet that

  was exactly what you did, wasn't it?"

  Philip, reluctantly, nodded agreement.

  "So," Tony continued, sounding like a triumphant

  attorney in cross-examination, "you need to get your

  intentions and your behavior on the same page. You need

  to get them congruent --do I have the word right?" Tony looked at Julius who nodded his head. "And that's why you should be in therapy. Congruence is what therapy is all

  about."

  "Well argued," said Philip. "I have no

  counterargument. You're right. That is why I need

  therapy."

  "What?" Tony could not believe his ears. He glanced

  at Julius, who gave him an "atta boy" nod.

  "Catch me, I'm going to faint," said Rebecca who

  slumped back in her chair.

  "Me, too," echoed Bonnie and Gill, slumping back as

  well.

  Philip looked around at the sight of half the group in

  mock unconsciousness and, for the first time since entering

  the group, grinned.

  Philip ended the group levity by returning to the

  issue of his personal approach to counseling. "Rebecca's

  discussion of Schopenhauer's tombstone comment implies

  that my approach or any approach based on his point of

  view is invalid. Lest you forget, I struggled for years with a serious affliction which Julius failed to cure, and I was only healed by patterning my path upon Schopenhauer's."

  Julius instantly supported Philip. "I don't deny

  you've done good work. Most therapists today would say

  it's not possible to overcome a severe sex addiction on your

  own. Contemporary treatment involves long-term work--I

  mean many years--in a structured recovery program

  consisting of individual therapy and groups meeting

  multiple times a week often along twelve-step principles.

  But no such recovery program existed back then, and,

  frankly, I doubt whether you would have found it

  compatible.

  "So," Julius continued, "I want to go on record as

  saying that your feat is remarkable: the techniques by

  which you controlled your runaway drives worked--better

  than anything I offered, even though I gave it my best

  shot."

  "I've never thought otherwise," said Philip.

  "But, here's a question, Philip, is there a possibility

  your methods are now superannuated?"

  "Super...what?" asked Tony.

  "Superannuated," whispered Philip, who was sitting

  next to Tony--super (Latin for beyond ) plus annus

  ( years)--in other words, outmoded, obsolete. "

  Tony nodded thanks.

  "The other day," Julius continued, "when I was

  wondering how to bring this home to you, an image came

  to mind. Imagine an ancient city that built a high wall to

  protect it from the wild torrents of an adjacent river.

  Centuries later, though the river had long dried up, the city

  still invested considerable resources in maintaining that

  wall."

  "You mean," said Tony, "continuing to use some

  solution even when the problem had gone away--like

  wearing a bandage long after the cut had healed."

  "Precisely," said Julius. "Maybe the bandage is a

  better metaphor--right to the point."

  "I don't agree," Philip addressed both Julius and

  Tony, "that my wound is healed or that containment is no

  longer necessary. For proof one need only look at my

  extreme discomfort levels in this group."

  "That's not a good measure," said Julius. "You've

  had little experience with intimacy, with expressing

  feelings directly, with getting feedback and disclosing

  yourself. This is new for you; you've been in seclusion for

  years, and I toss you into this high-powered group. Of

  course that's going to feel uncomfortable. But what I'm really referring to is the overt problem, the sexual

  compulsion--and perhaps that's gone. You're older, been

  through a lot, maybe you've entered the land of gonadal

  tranquillity. Nice place, good sunny climate. I've dwelled

  there comfortably for many years."

  "I would say," Tony added, "that Schopenhauer has

&n
bsp; cured you, but now you need to be saved from the

  Schopenhauer cure."

  Philip opened his mouth to respond but then closed it

  and pondered Tony's statement.

  "Another thing," Julius added, "when you think

  about your stress in the group, don't forget the heavy-duty

  pain and guilt you've faced here as a result of a chance

  encounter with a person from your past."

  "I've heard nothing about guilt from Philip," said

  Pam.

  Philip responded instantly, facing Pam. "If I had

  known then what I know now about the years of pain you've suffered, I would never have done what I did. As I said before, you were unlucky to have crossed my path. The

  person I was then did not think of consequences. Automatic

  pilot--that person was on automatic pilot."

  Pam nodded and caught his glance. Philip held it for

  a moment and then turned his attention back to Julius. "I

  grasp your point about the magnitude of the interpersonal

  stress in this group, but I insist that is only part of the

  picture. And it is here that our basic orientations are at

  odds. I agree there is stress in relationships with other

  beings. And possibly reward as well--I'll grant you that

  last point though I myself have never known it.

  Nonetheless, I'm convinced that in the very state of

  existing there is tragedy and suffering. Permit me to cite

  Schopenhauer for only two minutes."

  Without waiting for a response, Philip, staring

  upward, began reciting:

  In the first place a man never is happy but spends his

  whole life in striving after something which he thinks

  will make him so; he seldom attains his goal and, when

  he does it is only to be disappointed: he is mostly

  shipwrecked in the end, and comes into harbor with

  masts and riggings gone. And then it is all one whether

  he has been happy or miserable; for his life was never

  anything more than a present moment, always

  vanishing; and now it is over.

  After a long silence Rebecca said, "That sends

  shivers up my back."

  "I know what you mean," said Bonnie.

  "I know I'm sounding like an uptight English

  professor," said Pam, addressing the entire group, "but I

  urge you, don't be misled by rhetoric. That quote adds

  nothing of substance to what Philip has been saying all

  along; it only says it more persuasively. Schopenhauer was

  a brilliant stylist and wrote the best prose of any

  philosopher. Except for Nietzsche, of course--no one